


Captivated

by theelusiveflamingo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coming of Age, F/M, Underage But Whatever, wink wonk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:15:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3712756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theelusiveflamingo/pseuds/theelusiveflamingo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Different types of kisses between Arya and Jaqen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captivated

2\. Cheek

 

_She’s not old enough for anything but this.  Peck, peck, one on each cheek.  It makes Arya want to laugh because she knows he’s only doing it because they can’t do more.  Cheek kisses are too glamorous and proper for a man, A Man, who rides a motorcycle with a gleam in his eye and can pull a knife out of his pocket, twirl it, and tuck it away faster than she can blink._

_“Teach me,” she says to him one day.  His motorcycle’s parked behind the burned-out diner.  It’s totally shady, but what does she care?  Jaqen’s an assassin, but he’s not going to hurt_ her.

_He arches his eyebrows, but gives her the knife.  It feels good and heavy in her hands._

_“A girl can keep it.  But a girl must be careful.”_

_“I’m always careful.”_

_He laughs and runs his hands through her hair, messing it up.  “A man has to leave now.  A man has a job.  It might take a long time, but a man will not forget Arya Stark.”_

_“Don’t go,” she says.  She tries to keep the wobble out of her voice._

_He takes her hand in his, clenching his fist around her fist clenched around the hilt of the knife._

_“A man will come back for a girl.”  He kisses each cheek again.  The scent of him makes her dizzy.  “A man will have more than this to give a girl.”_

_“More than a knife?” She looks up his long body and into his blue eyes.  They are gleaming.  She raises an eyebrow the best she can._

_He laughs and hops on his motorcycle.  The engine rumbles, and Arya tries not to look at the way his jeans fit his thighs, or the way he’s pulled his red-and-white hair into a ponytail._

10\. Neck

 

_The party’s been going on for hours, and the ballroom is packed, but Arya’s still freezing.  The tiny straps of her red dress do nothing to cover her shoulders, and she left the shawl she borrowed from Sansa in the car.  She wants to get out of this room full of people.  She doesn’t smoke, but it’s tempting to bum a cigarette off the security guard with the stringy hair and the scarred face and go outside for some fresh air.  It’s great that Mom and Dad are being honored like this, but she feels like she’s disappearing into the crowd._

_It’s not that Arya doesn’t like people.  She does. But she hates the perfume and the fake smiles and her feet hurt in her heels.  She’s still short in them, she thinks as she steps out of the ballroom and the heels sink into the plush carpeting, making her wobble.  What’s even the point?_

_The hallway is quiet, the ballroom doors all shut.  Only one’s open, down at the far end of the hall.  Someone in there is playing the piano.  It’s Chopin; Arya doesn’t play an instrument but Bran takes his piano lessons seriously so she cares, too.  She wonders who’s playing Chopin in a hotel ballroom.  She feels like she’s entering another time._

_It’s him and he’s alone, playing a nocturne.  He’s making it look easy.  Arya’s mouth is hanging open.  What has it been, two years?  Two years and she still feels the weight of his knife, even when she’s not carrying it around.  She doesn’t know whether to feel angry that it took this long, or satisfied that he came back._

_She races to the piano bench and slides on next to him.  She thinks of pushing him off, but he’s too good and she doesn’t want to disturb him.  He plays beautifully.  He doesn’t look at her, but his arms brush against and across her as he plays.  Chopin songs sweep up and down the keyboard like waves, and his arm touches her, and touches her, and touches her._

_Then it ends._

_“A man finds a girl, and a girl finds a man.”  God.  She’s missed the strange way he talks.  She’s met other people from the same place he’s from.  They don’t talk like Jaqen does._

_“You’re a creep.”_

_“A man cannot deny it.”  He looks down at her red dress.  “A man has imagined a girl in the red of blood.  But he thinks of her in blues and greys.  Winter.”  He smiles.  “A girl looks good in red.”_

_“You smell good,” Arya blurts out._

_His eyes shut.  He holds her hair back from her neck and presses his lips to her skin.  His breath is soft, his lips softer.  She shifts on the bench.  Suddenly she’s imagining him tilting her head back and biting her neck and chest all over, bringing her to the floor and flipping her over onto her stomach, ripping the stupid red dress down the middle, in such a rush to get at her he doesn’t even have time to take his black pants all the way off.  The thought flashes through her brain and burns between her legs.  She’s had fantasies, sure, but this one’s the most—_

_“My birthday’s coming up in a couple months,” she says.  Bran’s always told her that no matter which black keys you play, they always sound good together.  She reaches out and touches three, one at a time, as he breathes against her.  “You should get me a present.”_

15\. Rain

_Arya loves her friends and she’s buzzed from the wine she had at the birthday dinner they organized for her.  She doesn’t mind that it’s raining and she forgot her umbrella.  The rain feels good on her burning cheeks.  Life is good._

_She hears a motorcycle growl from behind her.  Every birthday, she thinks, should end with a contract killer with a mysterious past giving her what she wants.  What they have wanted.  She turns around._

_“A girl should put this on.”  He holds out a helmet, even though he isn’t wearing one.  His hair is stuck to his face.  It looks almost orange in the streetlights._

_“Not yet,” Arya says.  “I want something first.”_

_“A girl wants—Ah.  A man sees.”_

_He leans down gracefully and kisses her, holding the back of her head steady.  Her mouth slides open to fit with his.  He tastes the way he smells—sweet, heavy, intoxicating, like autumn and smoke and something human underneath._

_“You’re a good kisser,” she says, after.  She already craves more._

_“A man has practice.”  He holds the helmet out again._

_“Whatever.  A girl’s had practice, too.”_

_“A man knows this.”  The right side of his mouth twitches up.  Arya wonders if they can do it right there, a quick fuck on the sidewalk that leaves her knees bruised or her back scratched._

_She puts on the helmet and climbs onto the back.  She kisses Jaqen on the neck through his wet hair._

 

20\. Collarbone & Chest

 

_His bed is not comfortable, but she’s not the one who’s lying on her back, and she’s sure Jaqen’s dealt with worse.  He’s stretched out underneath her, his pale eyes boring into hers in the dim light.  There’s music on, something that sounds 70s.  It’s not loud, but its pounding beat is urging her forward, forward.  His cock is pressing against her ass, hot on her hot skin.  There are scars on his chest and sides, but his stomach is flat and smooth.  She runs her hand across it.  His hair fans out behind him half red, half white.  It reminds Arya of a peacock’s tail._

_“A man does not want to do anything unless a girl is ready,” Jaqen says softly._

_“Shut the fuck up,” she whispers.  She lifts her hips up.  She grips his cock at the base and sinks down onto it.  She tries to keep her eyes open but it’s hard.  They moan at the same time, hers high, his low._

_“How do I feel?” she asks.  She wants to know._

_“A girl is perfect,” he says.  His eyes look like they’re begging.  She rakes her nails down his stomach and begins to ride his cock.  She goes fast.  She likes it fast.  He takes her by the wrist and says a word she doesn’t understand.  She thinks it means Please.  She digs her nails in deeper, and he nods._

_She stills her hips for a moment and he’s thrusting into her, biting his lip with his stare still focused on her.  She’s sweating.  He’s hurting her in the exact way she likes it to hurt._

_Then Jaqen takes her and flips her over.  His cock slips out and she feels empty for a moment, but then he’s back in and fucking her hard, mouthing frantically over her nipples and chest and collarbone.  He takes her hand and slides it down in between them.  His stays there with her.  She’s not going to waste her time blushing; there’s two thumbs driving her crazy and she’s gasping and waking up the neighbors.  She’s the one saying please, now, and she says it over and over again until she comes._

_She’s barely come down from it when he pulls out and jerks his cock once, twice and shoots all over her stomach.  He stays on all fours on top of her when he’s done.  His back is sagging and his hair is a mess and he looks exhausted, but his eyes are still alive and shining._

_“Now will you teach me what to do with your knife?” she asks._

_He collapses on top of her._

_“Ow,” she complains._

_He kisses up her neck, kisses her earlobe and ear._

_“A girl is loved, Arya Stark,” he says in between kisses.  “A man will teach her whatever she likes.”_


End file.
